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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633155">Annabelle Cane's Halfway House For Wayward Avatars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbaycolt/pseuds/kbaycolt'>kbaycolt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Apocalypse, Apocalypse Twister, As it should be, Character Undeath, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunken Shenanigans, Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, No beta we die like archival assistants, goth king oliver banks, jonah magnus hate club, jonahlias is only mentioned to be mocked, mike &amp; georgie: mlm/wlw hostility, mike crew is a little BITCH said with love, obligatory spiders, panopticon wedding!!! (not featured), probably wildly out of character, the magnus archives is a comedy, unjustifiable violence towards mike crew via everyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:53:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26633155</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kbaycolt/pseuds/kbaycolt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Annabelle opens her doors to exactly one (1) person. Somehow, she ends up with the throat of delusion incarnate, the Messiah of the Lightless Flame, a goth grim reaper, a vertigo-inducing manlet, a fearless podcast host, and a blind knife lesbian taking up residence in her halls.</p><p>Welcome to Annabelle Cane's Halfway House for Wayward Avatars*.</p><p> </p><p>*and other such entity-touched persons.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annabelle Cane &amp; Agnes Montague, Annabelle Cane &amp; Helen | The Distortion, Annabelle Cane &amp; Michael "Mike" Crew, Annabelle Cane &amp; Mikaele Salesa, Annabelle Cane/Agnes Montague, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas, Georgie Barker/Melanie King, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Mentioned Agnes Montague/Gertrude Robinson, Oliver Banks &amp; Annabelle Cane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>124</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Annabelle Cane's Halfway House For Wayward Avatars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i don't even know what the fuck this is. enjoy.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"It's almost time."</p><p>"That so?" Mikaele hummed. He was running his hands over the piano he'd hauled in from his ship the week before, all sleek ivory keys and shiny black wood. He glanced up, smiling. "About time, I'd say."</p><p>"You know these things are complex," Annabelle replied. She reclined back in her seat, crossing one leg over the other. A spider scuttled by her shoe and vanished into the shadows.</p><p>"What can I say? I'm impatient by nature."</p><p>Annabelle reached over and tugged at a thread that dangled from the ceiling. The web that it belonged to thrummed with the disturbance. Right now, one Basira Hussain was pulling random statements from their cases in the archives. Spiders shrank back from the light as she rifled through the files, ignoring the small creatures, intent on her task. Annabelle let her head fall back, eyes closed. She twitched her finger, drawing the thread taut.</p><p>Basira glanced towards a different, perfectly normal case, considering. Annabelle pulled as tight as she dared.</p><p>Jonah's compulsion pulled harder. Basira selected a statement from the middle of the shelf, by Hazel Rutter. She didn't bother skimming it before she shoved it in with the rest.</p><p>Annabelle sighed.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"And you're sure we're safe here?" Mikaele asked dubiously, peering out through the windows.</p><p>"Yes. I do recommend you stay inside, though."</p><p>He shut the blinds.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They received their first visitor two days—or whatever qualified as days—after the Archivist opened the gate. <em>Vigilo, audio, supervenio. </em>There was a joke in there, somewhere.</p><p>Annabelle was on the front steps of Upton House, basking in the cool breeze and the singing of birds all around. At the end of the gravel drive in the distance was where the Mother's protection ended. Beyond it, Annabelle could feel the press of the Ceaseless Watcher, though its gaze slid off of her domain like water off of plastic. It was determinedly satisfying.</p><p>Mikaele was still inside. Due to his being still an approximation of human, Annabelle didn't think he would fare all that well out here for very long. So, he stayed indoors. He was getting the hang of that piano, anyway.</p><p>And far away, holed up in Scotland, the Archivist lurked. He was moping, probably. It took her spiders a while to travel these days, avoiding the Eye as well as they could, so updates on Jonathan and his lovely boyfriend Martin were sparse and slow-going. Annabelle did so enjoy catching up on the drama.</p><p>The agonizing squeal of rusty hinges interrupted Annabelle's idyllic musings.</p><p>Above her, a bright yellow door swung upwards. She looked up into the dizzying expanse of hallways and waved politely.</p><p>"Hello, dear," Helen trilled, long fingers curling over the edges of the door frame. Her eyes shone like flashlight beams, swiveling around to scan front of the house. "What a beautiful home you have here. Helen was a realtor once, you know. She got to know many homes just like this in her time."</p><p>"And where did that get her?"</p><p>"Eaten!" Helen clapped without moving and her grin widened to her ears. "I heard you were having an avatar party and thought it was rather rude of you to not invite me."</p><p>"No party here, I'm afraid," Annabelle said, feeling somewhat genuinely remorseful. The last party she attended, the guests had exclusively comprised of spiders. "I'm sure Mikaele would be happy to serve you some cucumber sandwiches or something."</p><p>"I would be <em>honored</em>. Won't you join me?" She extended a hand. Her elbow joint was bent in the wrong direction.</p><p>Annabelle obliged, taking Helen's offered arm. Humoring the Distortion was a risky game, but damn she played it well.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A yellow door moved in permanently in the upstairs hallway. Mikaele didn't mention it, and neither did Annabelle. And if wine bottles started mysteriously vanishing around the place, then, well. Collateral.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Annabelle stared hard at the half-finished yellow scarf in her hands. She suspected she had begun stitching it incorrectly a few rows back and now it looked lumpy and uneven. For a daughter of the Mother, she was irritatingly horrific at practical weaving.</p><p>"You've got another visitor," Mikaele said, poking his head around the corner. "Some woman."</p><p>"I'm sort of busy," Annabelle said. She deftly unspooled her last stitch. A black widow crept up her sleeve and settled in the crook of her neck. She idly stroked it.</p><p>"You should probably greet her soon. Seemed a bit... tetchy."</p><p>Annabelle heaved a sigh and placed her scarf on the table. If Jude had come all this way just to hang around and be a nuisance, she was going to be quite cross. The black widow clung to her as she made her way to the front door and opened it.</p><p>A tall woman with long, fiery auburn hair and the palest blue eyes Annabelle had ever seen was standing on the doorstep. Her hands were folded over her stomach, and she looked more than a bit bewildered.</p><p>"Cane, isn't it?" she said. Her voice was <em>incredibly </em>beautiful. Annabelle scanned her up down appreciatively.</p><p>"Correct."</p><p>"I'm Agnes," she said, making no move towards a handshake. "Montague."</p><p>"Montague? <em>Desolation</em> Montague?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>The widow on Annabelle's shoulder climbed up her skull, picked its way past the webs that matted over her skin, and crawled into the caved-in space beneath it. Agnes' gaze tracked it but her expression did not change.</p><p>"Helen showed me the way," she said simply.</p><p>"Ah." Serves Annabelle right, really, for being nice to the Distortion. "Come on in, then."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mikaele and Agnes got on well. Frighteningly so. When Annabelle walked in the parlor to find Agnes meticulously burning bundles of sage that Mikaele then took and wandered around the house with, making the entire place smell terrible, she looked deep within herself, searching for patience, and then left them to it.</p><p>Besides. She was already busy filling Mikaele's pillow with spiderwebs.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Helen dropped by to cheerfully inform everyone that the Archivist and Martin Blackwood were finally getting out and about in their brand new world. She said she'd had quite a lot of fun listening to them proclaim their visceral and abiding hatred for Jonah Magnus.</p><p>"That Eye freak?" Agnes said pleasantly. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, drawing her fingers across the carpet and leaving scorch marks in her wake. Mikaele wheezed.</p><p>"Quite the same!" Helen said, delighted. Her fingertips tapped together with a hollow metallic noise.</p><p>"I knew of him as James, and then as Elias. Gertrude hated him too."</p><p>"Ah, names. Fickle things." Helen made a noise of disgust and shook her head, which made her facial features lurch wildly in opposing directions before fixing themselves back into place. "No. Damn. I don't want anything in common with <em>Jonah Magnus</em>."</p><p>"How is the Archivist?" Annabelle asked.</p><p>"Oh, sad and torn up about things, as per the norm. If he just went ahead and <em>embraced</em> it he'd be having a much more exciting time of things. As it is," Helen sighed, her torso compounding in on itself, "he's simply wallowing in his misery. You'd think that being your god's favorite would cheer up any avatar. Alas."</p><p>"You'd think," Agnes murmured. Mikaele mimed patting her shoulder sympathetically.</p><p>"Thank you, Helen," Annabelle said.</p><p>"As always, knock if you need anything." Helen winked. The motion made colorful stars explode across Annabelle's vision. She twisted forwards and vanished back behind her door, which was no longer there. Agnes rubbed her temples with a sigh.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"Never have I ever been in a cult," Annabelle said. She was sprawled on her back on the roof, loosely gripping the neck of a wine bottle. It was early morning, which meant nothing.</p><p>Agnes knocked back a shot of bright red liquid. The glass melted beneath her fingers. "Never have I ever," she said, leaning against the chimney, "seen a giant spider."</p><p>Scoffing, Annabelle took a shot. "Never have I ever kissed an Archivist."</p><p>Expression twisting in indignation, Agnes waved vaguely in Annabelle's direction. "Now, listen, Gertrude and I weren't—We didn't—" She spluttered, which was both out of character and ridiculously adorable. "We were bound! By your patron, by the way."</p><p>"The Mother tied you, but she sure didn't make you snog the hell out of Robinson. That was all you."</p><p>Agnes snatched the wine. Annabelle let her. "Never have I ever killed a bunch of university students."</p><p>"Low blow, Montague. Never have I ever burned the shit out of a coffee shop worker."</p><p>"That was an <em>accident</em>. Jack was very sweet."</p><p>Annabelle looked up at the sky. There was no sun, but it was bright and warm regardless. Agnes closed her eyes, tipping back the bottle. She idly hoped Helen showed up, but then figured it probably wasn't wise to encourage the Distortion's antics, especially drunken ones.</p><p>"I'm going to give Martin a call," she said suddenly, sitting upright. It made her head hurt. "He's going to be so scared."</p><p>"Martin Blackwood? The new Archivist's husband?"</p><p>"Boyfriend. He's—Well, he's pretty good at weaving himself. Not avatar material, the Lonely's got a better bet than me, but he can hold his own."</p><p>"Got a crush?" Agnes teased.</p><p>"God no. Jon would smite me. Or at least he'd try. Anyways, not interested in men."</p><p>"Hm. Neither was Gertrude. She always used to say that men were a failed experiment and it was up to us to keep the world on track." Agnes fiddled with her sleeves contemplatively. "I didn't really know what she meant until I had to deal with Diego and Arthur. And Eugene. Whining, pathetic children dabbling in things they didn't understand. Infuriating."</p><p>Annabelle snorted, accepting the bottle when Agnes passed it back. "Gertrude knew what she was talking about. Put men in charge and you get a disaster. Just look at what happened with Magnus. Now, if he'd just made Sasha the Archivist..."</p><p>Where Agnes' hands rested on the shingles, they smoldered. Annabelle was momentarily glad this was the Apocalypse and property damage was no longer a concern of anyone's.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was an approximation of midnight. The house was illuminated by lanterns that Agnes had methodically walked around and lit once evening fell. Mikaele ran his fingers over the piano, filling the darkened parlor with gentle, languid music. Annabelle was pulling through the final stitches of her latest scarf, an ugly olive green monstrosity that Mikaele was in love with.</p><p>"Cane," Agnes said from the couch. She pointed at the floor.</p><p>Tendrils of grey fog crept along the tile, rolling in at a tentative, almost probing pace. The temperature dropped several degrees. Mikaele frowned and stopped playing.</p><p>Annabelle made a sharp yanking motion. Static buzzed in her ears, crackling and pitchy, but the fog receded, and in its place stood a sailor. He was tall and broad, his beard graying and his eyes empty. He stood in place for one second, hollow gaze sweeping over each of them, before staggering and bracing himself on the arm of the couch. Agnes narrowed her eyes at him.</p><p>"Apologies for intruding," he said, voice hoarse. "I felt a blind spot, and I followed it."</p><p>"Peter?" Mikaele exclaimed. "Peter Lukas?"</p><p>"Salesa." Peter attempted to collect himself, though Annabelle could see he was shaking.</p><p>"Thought you were dead. Everyone did. After what the Archivist did."</p><p>"Well, the Apocalypse does funny things to us all. That Montague girl should be dead too. Yet." Peter's tone lacked its usual humor. He reached up to adjust his captain's hat, took a step forward, and immediately collapsed.</p><p>Everyone stared at him.</p><p>"Give him an empty room," Annabelle said wearily. Mikaele got up and started dragging Peter's unconscious body across the parlor. To herself, she muttered, "this isn't a damn halfway house."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Peter woke up two days later and immediately burst into tears. He began to sob about Elias sacrificing him, his <em>husband,</em> to his pet Archivist, like he was worth <em>nothing</em>, he'd been the one to propose six out of nine times and Elias spared him absolutely no sentimentality, not that he gives a shit because he harbors NO love for humanity or really anyone on the planet, it's part of the job description, but STILL, he'd funded Elias' damn Institute for <em>decades</em> and put up with Elias' bullshit for longer, the absolute least he deserves is a WARNING.</p><p>Mikaele frantically tried to console the weeping captain, awkwardly stroking his shoulder with a desperate 'help me' expression on his face.</p><p>Annabelle looked him dead in the eyes and closed the door.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Peter left the next day without saying goodbye, which was par for the course. Mikaele informed Annabelle that he was trekking back to the Panopticon to divorce Elias again.</p><p>"Are there even any divorce lawyers left?" Agnes wondered.</p><p>"Divorce lawyers; avatars of the Extinction," Mikaele said solemnly.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"That's E," Mikaele said, directing Agnes towards the correct key. They sat side by side on the piano bench. Agnes' hands were covered in three layers of gloves. "Then next is F. It's alphabetical order, see. Then G, then it starts at A again."</p><p>Annabelle grabbed a jar of grape jelly from the fridge. She wasn't sure how it was still running; there wasn't any electricity in Upton House.</p><p>She set out two slices of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and a butter knife. A jarring, discordant note echoed through the space as Agnes pressed the D flat key. Mikaele corrected her posture.  Annabelle cut her sandwiches diagonally after tearing off the crust.</p><p>A knock rang out, interrupting Mikaele and Agnes' lesson. Annabelle let a long sigh.</p><p>Standing a few paces away from the door was Oliver Banks. He was dressed up in full Terminus regalia: long, flowing black coat; ripped black jeans; black platform boots with little silver skulls etched into the sides; and finally, a magnificent crown of blood red roses and jagged black spires, like jutting mountaintops.</p><p>"Got bored?" Annabelle asked, taking a bite of her sandwich.</p><p>"Just got a visit from Jon," he said. "Can I come in?"</p><p>Annabelle stepped back. She gave him half of her sandwich, which he distractedly set down on his way inside. She huffed fondly and picked it back up.</p><p>"Nice place you got here," he remarked. "Untouched."</p><p>"The work of the Mother," Annabelle said smugly.</p><p>"Exquisite Weaving, as always."</p><p>"Impressive Corpse Routes yourself."</p><p>"Ladies, ladies," Mikaele interrupted. "The flirting between you and Agnes is enough for me."</p><p>"Right," Oliver said, blushing. "I have a message for you all." His expression turned ominous, and the room seemed to grow still and cold. Agnes wrapped her arms around herself. His voice lowers to something dark. "I serve The Coming End That Waits For All And Will Not Be Ignored. Terminus gifts me the ability to see and spread the hidden veins of destiny that wrap us close and draw us through the empty, yearning parody of meaning that we call life, knowing at all stages that the last and final point of this journey is a blank and futile end."</p><p>He cleared his throat, dusting himself off. The life and warmth returned to the room. Annabelle rolled her eyes; always with the theatrics. "Jon is on his way. He is more powerful than he Knows. I have no doubt that yours is a heavy hand in his journey," he said, looking pointedly at Annabelle, "but understand that any attempts you make to deny your ultimate end will be fruitless and vain."</p><p>Silence reigned for a beat. Two.</p><p>"Rather bleak," Agnes said calmly, gaze steady. "I used to believe in such a final destiny, once upon a time."</p><p>Oliver glanced over at her. He tilted his head. "Hmm. And you thought you had it all figured out."</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Out of curiosity: what did you learn?"</p><p>"That nothing is fixed," she answered. "Nothing is set. I could not avoid my fate, but I have cheated it all the same."</p><p>Oliver nodded slowly. "As a young man, I used to yearn for that sort of conviction. Now that I have attained it, I no longer recognize him." He turned towards Annabelle. "Give Helen, or whatever she goes by these days, my regards. She never stops by to talk anymore."</p><p>Annabelle saluted him.</p><p>His coat sweeping elegantly around him, he turned and walked down, the door shutting silently behind him.</p><p>"Christ," Annabelle muttered.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"<em>CANE!"</em></p><p>Annabelle cupped a sand spider in her palms and smiled. "Good job," she cooed at it sweetly. "Good job, my lovelies."</p><p>"<em>SPIDERS</em>," Mikaele continued shrieking, footsteps stomping around wildly. "<em>IN MY FUCKING PILLOW? REALLY?!"</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>It was Tuesday. Or maybe Saturday. Or both at the same time. Time was meaningless.</p><p>Someone landed on their roof with a painful-sounding <em>thump.</em></p><p>"On it," Mikaele said, stepping outside.</p><p>A few minutes later, he came back inside dragging a young man covered in mud by his collar. The guy was trembling and shivering violently, spitting out globs of soil, every inch of him drenched in thick sludge. His eyes, a bright and piercing blue, were just about the only things visible.</p><p>"Mike?" Annabelle said.</p><p>"Motherfucker," Mike Crew said. He kicked off his shoes, hurrying to unbutton his shirt and yank it off, dropping the ruined garments on the pristine floors. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck. Shit. Goddamn motherfucking cunt." He whirled around and rushed towards Annabelle, stopped only by her yanking on a string and halting him before he got any of his filth on her. "Where's your shower," he demanded.</p><p>"Upstairs. Are you...?"</p><p>"Fine," he snarled. The picture of fine and rational, he ran up the stairs and slammed the bathroom door behind him. The shower started running a second later.</p><p>Annabelle glared at the muddy clothes on the white tile. Mikaele noticed the vitriol building in her and wisely hurried out.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike was considerably less hysterical when he finished showering and got into new clothes. There was still some dirt under his nails, which Annabelle did not comment on.</p><p>"So, how did you die?" Agnes asked, eating an ice cream bar that was miraculously unmelted.</p><p>"Hunt avatar shot me and buried me," he said, indignant, pacing back and forth across floors that Annabelle had spent several hours scrubbing the shit out of. "After that damned Archivist pulled a story from me. No manners! <em>None.</em> I even offered him tea! I dropped him into terminal velocity for less than half an hour! And what do I get for my patience and mercy? <em>BURIED IN A DITCH!" </em>By the end of his rant, his voice had risen to a screech. He stopped, took a deep breath, and sat down next to Agnes on the couch. "How did you die?"</p><p>"Hanging."</p><p>"Ah. Sorry about that."</p><p>"Mm. You too."</p><p>"I faked my death," Mikaele added.</p><p>"Congrats," Annabelle said dryly, reaching over the bar to grab another bottle.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Annabelle reasoned to herself that the explanation for so many dead avatars coming back, was simply to for the entities to squeeze out more terror. After all, Terminus got them all eventually, so why not use them to their full potential?</p><p>She also highly suspected that Jon had something to do with it. He wasn't aware of half the stuff he brought into the world, it made since for him to internalize certain avatars that perhaps he felt unjustly deserved their fates, or didn't think death should be able to claim them yet.</p><p>Whatever the reason, she was growing irked with how many were coming to <em>her</em>. Granted, a blind spot in a world dominated by a voyeur would shine like a beacon to anyone seeking refuge, so this was partially expected. But it was ultimately Mikaele's fault that three of them were now sticking around permanently. He just kept <em>bonding</em> with them.</p><p>Annabelle steadfastly ignored her own frequent excursions with Agnes. Salesa was clearly the only person to blame.</p><p>"I haven't figured out how to access the rest of my powers yet," Mike was saying to Agnes and Mikaele, "because it's been so long, but I've got some of them back." He hovered a few inches off the ground in demonstration.</p><p>Agnes clapped politely.</p><p>"Might throw myself into the sky tomorrow," he mused, drifting back down.</p><p>"Oh, please do," Annabelle said.</p><p>"Don't sound so eager, I might think you don't like me."</p><p>"What gave you that impression."</p><p>Mike pulled a face at her. She jerked her fingers and he lurched to the side, slamming into the wall. He groaned, clutching his shoulder. "Not fair," he whined.</p><p>
  <em>Creeeeeak.</em>
</p><p>Annabelle let her head fall forward. "Hi, Helen."</p><p>Mike scrambled back. "Why is a Spiral monster in your house?" he yelped, eyes wide with fright.</p><p>"Monster?" Helen said, ducking to clear the top of her door. She turned an exaggerated pouty face in Mike's direction. "So rude." Her head spun around 180 degrees, body whirling around to match a second behind. "I've brought friends!"</p><p>"No," Annabelle tried, "no, no, Helen—"</p><p>Helen yanked her door off its hinges to usher in two newcomers, who crossed the threshold with no small amount of suspicion in their eyes. Annabelle cradled her head in her hands, despairing.</p><p>"Ta-ta, now," Helen cheered, stepping back into her halls. She had no feet, so Annabelle wasn't sure how she managed to walk, but she did. "I have some poor souls to devour."</p><p><em>I guess this is happening, </em>Annabelle thought, lifting her head to assess the two women Helen had brought. One was bundled up in a hoodie, a cat clutched in her arms, while the other wore a t-shirt and held a white cane in one hand. They were holding hands. Ah. Yes. Jon's friends.</p><p>"Welcome, Georgie, Melanie," she said. "Annabelle Cane, at your service."</p><p>"Hi," Georgie said cautiously, drawing Melanie closer to her. "Helen said this place was safe. That the Eye couldn't see here."</p><p>"That's right. Feel free to grab any room you want. It's a big house."</p><p>Mike had picked himself up off the floor. He stepped forward and held out a hand to the pair. "Hello," he said, as if he wasn't a terrified whimpering mess a minute ago. "I'm Mike."</p><p>"Crew?" Melanie asked, raising an eyebrow. This movement's impact was slightly negated by her lack of eyes.</p><p>"Yes!"</p><p>"Hmmm." She shook his hand. "Who else is here?"</p><p>Annabelle rattled off the names. "Agnes Montague, Mikaele Salesa, Oliver Banks sometimes, Helen sometimes, and anyone else who decides to drop in, at this point. Feel free to leave but I doubt you'll make it far."</p><p>"I'll show you upstairs," Agnes offered. She led the pair away.</p><p>Mike opened his mouth. Annabelle flicked her wrist and he closed it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>On her third day of exploring the Upton House, Melanie discovered a Twister board stuffed away in a closet, so that was what they were doing.</p><p>Mikaele spun the spinner. "Left hand red," he said.</p><p>Annabelle set her hand on the red circle. Mike leaned over and did the same. Agnes ended up face-to-face with Georgie, and they both began blushing deeply.</p><p>"Why are there so many cucumbers in your kitchen?" Melanie called, pulling random items out cabinets and then putting them back.</p><p>"Helen likes cucumber sandwiches," Mikaele replied. "Right foot blue."</p><p>Annabelle took the opportunity to kick Mike as hard as she could in the stomach. He made a choked noise and tried to kick Annabelle back, but the awkward position meant he kicked Georgie instead, who spun and punched him in the nose, which promptly started gushing blood, and Annabelle laughed so hard and long she collapsed and lost the game. Melanie, giggling, handed Mike a few paper towels when he ran into the kitchen, scowling darkly at Annabelle as she wheezed on the floor beneath Georgie, who looked extremely pleased with herself. Even Agnes was clearly resisting a smile.</p><p>"Right fist Crew," Mikaele said, deadpan, and everyone lost it again.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"'Authorities are unsure whether the man died from gunshots, excited delirium, or blank'," Georgie read aloud.</p><p>"Three hundred spider bites," Annabelle said eagerly.</p><p>"Falling at terminal velocity," Mike piped up.</p><p>Agnes said serenely, "Being boiled alive."</p><p>"Knife to the chest," Melanie said. Mike inched away.</p><p>"Homophobic vase," Mikaele called.</p><p>From where she was lounging in her doorway, Helen was holding her cards up one by one and eating them. The card colors were fluctuating wildly between neon pink and a sickly orange. "Acute dehydration," she said, through a mouthful of bright green cards.</p><p>Georgie gave a pained look. "I'm pretty sure none of you have those cards." She sighed. "Knife to the chest wins this round."</p><p>Mike groaned. "That's favoritism because she's your girlfriend."</p><p>Smiling sweetly at him, Georgie leaned over and kissed Melanie deeply.</p><p>"Now you're just bragging."</p><p>"It's not her fault you can't catch a date," Annabelle said. "Maybe if you stopped throwing potential boyfriends off of cliffs, you'd have better chances."</p><p>"The Archivist was rude to <em>me</em> first," Mike grumbled.</p><p>"Jon was enamored with Martin all the way back then, you stood no chance."</p><p>Georgie and Melanie's kiss was quickly becoming heated, and as soon as Annabelle saw a hand go up a shirt she made the decision to elect herself the next Card Czar.</p><p>"'At the end of the world, all that remains is blank'," Annabelle read.</p><p>"Fear and suffering," Mike sighed.</p><p>Melanie broke away from Georgie briefly to say, "A giant fucking eyeball," before turning back to her girlfriend.</p><p>"A gay soap opera," Helen said.</p><p>"Spiders," Mikaele said with a small shudder.</p><p>"I saw that, asshole," Annabelle said. "Helen wins this round."</p><p>"Oh joy," Helen chirped. "Speaking of gay soap operas, I saw Jon and Martin just the other day, trudging through Simon's domain. Still so dreary. Martin is a delight, as always, but Jon simply drags. I tried to get him to kill the tiny Fairchild man but—" She exhaled dramatically, and her appearance contorted and burst into fractals, "—to my <em>intense</em> disappointment, he refused."</p><p>"Good," Georgie said decisively. "Good for Jon."</p><p>"Infinite power and he finally figured out how to be courteous," Mike said. Melanie kicked him. "Ow! I'm right!"</p><p>"No, no, he's still very rude," Helen corrected.</p><p>"You'd be an asshole too if you worked for Elias Bouchard," Melanie said. "Honestly, I get it."</p><p>Annabelle watched a small brown recluse spider land on Mike's head as he took a swig from the bottle they were all passing around. The spider vanished into his dark curls. She met Mikaele's eyes across the room, who had also clearly noticed, and made a shushing motion.</p><p>"Jonah," Annabelle laughed. "What a joke. King of a ruined world my ass."</p><p>"Eye avatars do tend to have inflated senses of self importance," Agnes agreed.</p><p>"Someone should knock him down a peg," Georgie said.</p><p>They all looked at each other.</p><p>"On one hand," Annabelle said, "it would be narratively and thematically appropriate for Jon or Martin to kill him. On the other hand, it would be incredibly, fantastically fun for <em>us</em> to kill the bastard."</p><p>Helen made a noise of longing. Melanie fingered her very sharp butcher's knife with deep consideration. Annabelle vaguely wondered where she got her hands on that.</p><p>"Let's not make any decisions before they actually here," Georgie suggested.</p><p>Mike reached up and ran a hand through his hair, then started screaming.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>A letter showed up on the front porch, addressed to Mikaele Salesa.</p><p>He opened it, then buried his face in his hands.</p><p>Annabelle took it from him. "'Join us for the wedding of Peter Lukas'," she read, with dawning disgust, "'And Elias Bouchard. Dates and times are meaningless. Location: Panopticon, London.' Holy shit. I thought Lukas was divorcing him."</p><p>Mikaele let out a moan of horror. "They invited <em>me</em> specifically, Annabelle. What the fuck."</p><p>"I am so sorry."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Annabelle gathered everyone into the parlor for a Group Meeting™. Mike floated three feet in the air, arms crossed behind his head. Agnes was lying across the entirety of the couch, which everyone had silently agreed was hers. Georgie and Melanie were drinking brightly colored cocktails on the floor.</p><p>"The Archivist is getting close," Annabelle said. "I've called a few times to build up suspense, and he thinks half of you are dead—" Agnes, Mike, and Mikaele each gave a thumbs-up in unison, making them glance sheepishly at each other. "—So the surprise will be genuine. When Helen comes back, everyone get into position. Mikaele will play the piano mysteriously. I will bring them in and lead them to Mikaele, where he will dramatically reveal who he is. At that point, either or both of them will likely collapse."</p><p>"What?" Georgie asked. "Why?"</p><p>"The Eye is sustaining them," Agnes murmured. "It feeds the Archivist, and in turn gives those close to him immunity. As long as they exist beneath the gaze of the Ceaseless Watcher, they don't need to eat or sleep."</p><p>"And by entering a place shielded from Beholding," Annabelle continued, "they will lose their immunity. Several weeks of sleep deprivation and exhaustion will knock them out fast."</p><p>"So, kinda like taking benadryl," Melanie said.</p><p>"Exactly."</p><p>"What about the rest of us?" Mike asked.</p><p>"The rest of you will be out of sight until I say so." Annabelle let them make their protests before hushing them. "Listen, it's about the build-up, alright? You can say hi to the Archivist and his boyfriend after they rest. Then, we have business to discuss."</p><p>"You mean the bloody kind, right?" Melanie asked, grinning. "Like the eviscerating kind? Like the guillotine kind?"</p><p>"Yes, the discussion is about how to kill Jonah."</p><p>"Awesome, just wanted clarification."</p><p>The sharp, grating whine of hinges interrupted the Group Meeting. Helen dropped into existence as much as she could. Her appearance shattered upon contact with the floor and rearranged itself at random, like a toddler's mosaic. "Hello!" she cried, jumping up. "They're almost out of the necropolis, I think it's rather time we take our places!"</p><p>Annabelle clapped her hands together. "Alright, everyone, just like we've practiced. Mikaele, you know what to do." He nodded and hurried around the corner to the parlor. Everyone else dispersed to various spots around the house.</p><p>Agnes blew Annabelle a kiss and meandered out.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Annabelle and Mikaele looked down at Jon and Martin's unconscious forms, one with amusement and the other with disappointment.</p><p>"So much for my big reveal," he huffed, arms crossed. "Shame. Ah, well, we can talk after they’ve slept, I suppose. Eugh. And had a bath. And some food. No rush; we have all the time in the world."</p><p>A baby wolf spider crawled out of Martin's pocket and scampered up Annabelle's body, coming to cling at the corner of her lips. She smiled.</p><p>Melanie poked her head around the corner, followed by Georgie, who gave a relieved smile upon seeing them. "They're not dead, right?"</p><p>"Just tired," Mikaele assured her. To Annabelle, he asked "Do we have even have any empty rooms left?"</p><p>"They can take Crew's," Annabelle said dismissively, but with no small amount of ill-disguised delighted malice. "I'm sure he'd prefer to sleep on the roof anyway."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>uwu</p></blockquote></div></div>
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